Framed For Love

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  A shiver crawled up Jared’s spine.

  His reaction didn’t elude Laranda. “Choose your side, Jared,” she said. “Although you really don’t have a choice. If you don’t do what I want, I will force you. It’s as simple as that. I know where your soft spots are. Trent, perhaps? Or Cassi, your lovely ex-fiancée? Or perhaps your own mother? How is your mother, Jared? You never introduced me to her, you know. Does she still drive a blue Fiat?”

  Jared’s blood seemed to freeze in his veins. His mother did drive a blue Fiat, purchased only the month before. “There is always a choice,” he said with false bravado.

  Her lips curved into a mocking smile. “Yes, but you can’t choose the outcome now, can you?”

  He had to say something, anything to take her mind from this vein of thought. “Big Tommy won’t go down easily.”

  Laranda gave a feminine snort. “He’s already gone back to his safe home in America, convinced that I have everything under control. By the time he realizes what I’m really up to, I will be long gone and he will be imprisoned or dead. I have enough information on his organization to own or to destroy it.”

  So not just a double cross. Her ultimate plan was to take over Big Tommy’s entire operation.

  She smiled at him. “It beats sitting alone in a prison hospital with only a perky intern to visit you, don’t you think?”

  “Was it the intern who took your place?”

  She waved her hand. “It doesn’t matter. But look at us. Here we are, just like old times.”

  “Not quite,” he said dryly.

  “That’s up to you. You can have everything you ever wanted. I can give it to you.”

  He shook his head. “That’s where you are wrong, Laranda. I had everything I wanted—my life, my freedom.” He purposely refrained from mentioning Cassi, who had become so entwined in his life that not to love her was not to live. “You took it away.”

  “For something better. You’ll see. But for now, go back to your room, and see what I have bought you. Tomorrow we’ll talk again. Think about what I’m offering. Meanwhile, I’ll consider the fate of your friend.” She motioned to the guard, who came alive at the door.

  Jared stood and walked away without looking back, though he felt her eyes digging into him.

  In the room he shared with Trent, he found packages of clothing—shoes, a blazer, a suit, and even pajamas. “This stuff must have cost a fortune,” Trent said, examining a designer label.

  “A fortune for us, maybe. For her it’s just a small expense on Big Tommy’s credit card.” Jared sighed wearily and laid stomach-down on the bed, his face turned away, not wanting Trent to see how upset he was. The clothes showed that Laranda meant for Jared to stay a long time in gilded captivity. It didn’t escape him that there was only one set of each type of clothing—casual, semi-dress, dress, sweats, shoes. A not-so-subtle message from Laranda telling him that Trent was expendable.

  No matter how Jared looked at the situation, he saw no way out except to pretend to go along with Laranda’s plan, and then to kill her when they were alone and escape. Jared punched the pillow resentfully. Could he kill? Would he do so to save Cassi or Trent? If the opportunity came, would he be better off tying her up and turning her in, thereby leaving the path open for her to return later for another chance at revenge?

  The unrest in his soul could find no answer.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AFTER THEY entered the abandoned house outside of San Diego, Fred called one of his best men in from another case. “Dave, I want you to go through the house one more time. There must be something we missed. Fingerprints and DNA samples prove Jared Landine and Trent Benson were being held in that basement. Time is running out. We have to find a clue, or those men are as good as dead. I’ll want to hear your report myself.”

  “Okay.” With a nod, Dave was gone.

  “Is that really necessary?” Justin asked, glancing up from his notepad. “I’ve been through the house, you’ve been through the house. There’s nothing there.”

  A vision of Renae Benson left with five fatherless children made Fred’s reply sharper than he would have normally allowed. “It’s our only chance, unless you’re expecting a miracle.”

  “I’m praying for one,” said a voice from the door.

  Fred looked up to see Renae carrying her baby in a car seat. His face colored slightly before he brought it under control. “Good,” he said. “We need it.”

  “I was wondering if I could get in to see Linden again.” Renae shifted the car seat to her other hand. “Your men won’t let me in.”

  “That’s because they’ve been told not to,” Justin said. “Not you in particular, just anyone. In case he has information somebody wants.”

  “Well, I want to read to him.” Renae’s pale blue eyes challenged Justin, but then she turned to Fred, knowing he would make the final decision.

  Fred stood. “Come on. I’ll drive you. I’d like to check on him myself. Justin, it’s all yours until I get back.” He paused at the door. “Did you find out yet who owns that house? That could tell us a lot.”

  “It’s a mystery,” Justin said with a grimace. “I’m following a trail of false names and companies right now. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to trace it.”

  With a grunt of acknowledgment, Fred walked out the door. “Do you always talk to each other like that?” Renae asked.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Justin and I go way back. We were at the FBI Academy in Virginia together. I was older—I’d been a policeman before—but we became friends. When I was promoted to Supervisory Special Agent a few months back, I made sure he was one of the special agents under me. He and I work well together.”

  “That’s good. For a moment, I thought you didn’t like each other.”

  “Nah, it’s just the way we are.”

  On the way to the hospital, Fred answered Renae’s probing questions about the case, holding nothing back. He felt bad that he didn’t have more to offer her. If only they could find something in that house to go on.

  Linden didn’t seem to be improving, but Renae said, “There’s more color in his face today.” She settled her sleeping baby in his car seat on the floor and fished inside her huge handbag for a book.

  Fred leaned down and whispered urgently to Linden, “You gotta come back, Linden. I need you, buddy. Cassi and Jared need you. Don’t let us down now.” He squeezed his friend’s hand and was surprised to see a tear slide from the corner of one of Linden’s closed eyes. A spark of hope fluttered in Fred’s heart.

  “Here it is,” Renae said, holding up a small book. She sat in the chair by Linden’s bed. “Now, I read you the introduction last time,” she said to Linden, “so we’ll start on the first chapter.”

  Fred thumbed toward the door. “I can’t stay. I have to get back to work.”

  “I know.” Her eyes held his a moment longer. “I want you to know how much I appreciate your help. Thank you so much.”

  “It’s my job,” Fred said, feeling embarrassed.

  Renae looked pointedly at Linden. “No. I can see it’s more than that, and I’m grateful.”

  Fred barely stopped himself from grunting in response. “Yeah, well . . . I’ll keep in touch.” He gave a wave of his hand and headed for the door.

  Fred continued down the hall. Renae was quite unlike any woman he had met before. For some reason her presence made him feel flustered. It was probably the fact that he didn’t usually work too closely with the families of kidnapping victims. They usually stayed a respectful distance away, even as their hopes faded.

  Or maybe it was because she didn’t fit the stereotype of the grieving spouse. By all rights, Renae should be desperate and hysterical, but she was neither. Instead, she held onto her faith and composure. Fred admired the inner courage that made her so strong, when it seemed unlikely her husband was still alive.

  Fred pushed the thought away. Renae was too young to be left without a husband. He had to find
him quickly.

  When Fred arrived at his office, a phone call awaited him. “Schulte here.”

  “This is Dave. I’ve found something at the house. At first I thought it was just a mess of shiny Vaseline-type junk on the wall under the sink, but it turns out to be from a tube of antibiotic cream. It’s a message. It says Laranda and France. That’s all.”

  “Thank you,” Fred said. “Let me know if you find anything else.” He remembered seeing the first-aid kit and thinking it odd there were no bandages inside. They had found them in the garbage, open and sticking together, but apparently unused. It was a clue he’d overlooked. Good thing he’d called in Dave.

  As he hung up the phone, Justin came through the door. “Uh-oh, I don’t like that face. What’s up?”

  “Proof that Laranda was in that house, and that she’s taken our boys to France.”

  “I’ll contact our Legat’s office in Paris.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not giving it up on this end so easily. It might be a ploy, for all we know. Did you find out who owns the house?”

  Justin shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ve got someone still working on it.”

  Fred rubbed a hand over his face. “Good. There have to be more clues. Have you tracked down any more relatives or friends who might know anything?”

  “Well, that’s what I’ve been working on personally. I’ve just talked to Cassi Mason’s brother, who lives in Provo, Utah. He admits that she spent Thursday night at his house.”

  “Then she’s alive.” Fred was relieved beyond expression to know that she hadn’t died in the submerged car. If Linden were to awaken, how could he ever answer for that?

  “I don’t see how she got to Provo,” Justin continued. “No one identified her near the crash.”

  “Well, if there’s one thing I learned from the last case with Jared and Cassi, they are resourceful.”

  “Yeah, well now she’s taken off again. Her brother won’t tell me where. He said he had some papers he’d planned to send us, but someone broke in the precinct there and stole them.”

  “Ah. Could they be the papers from the envelope Renae spoke of?”

  “A copy, I think. We need him to tell us where Cassi is now. She must have the originals.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Fred said.

  “Darla has the number. She’s the one who found him for me.” Fred pushed the intercom that connected his office to their secretary’s desk. A few minutes later, she had Robert Mason on the line.

  “Are you the one in charge?” Robert asked.

  “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Fred Schulte, and, yes, I’m in charge of this case. You need to tell me where Cassi is.”

  “I’ve heard there’s someone dirty in your department.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Never mind. Just a source I’m not going to reveal. And frankly, I believe it. There are just too many unpleasant coincidences.”

  “You’ll tell me what you know or I’ll have your badge,” Fred growled.

  “I don’t care how you threaten me,” Robert said. “This is my sister, and her safety comes first. Period. Now, convince me that you are who you say you are.”

  “Look, Mr. Mason, we’re on the same team here. I want to find Cassi and Jared and bring them home safely as much as you do.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “You’ll have to take my word.”

  “Your word?” Robert snorted. “I don’t think so. Someone here just created a diversion and walked right into this police department and stole the only proof I have that anything is going on. That takes connections. And you want me to trust you?”

  Fred sighed loudly in defeat. “What can I do to convince you? My friend Linden is fighting for his life in a hospital because I didn’t get there in time to save him and Cassi. In fact, Renae Benson is sitting in the hospital with her baby right now as we speak, reading to Linden. It’s my fault he’s there. Please, I need any information I can get to find out who’s behind this. All I know is that Cassi is missing with the information we need, and that Laranda has probably taken off to France with Jared.” He was risking little by giving the information, and perhaps it would help the man to confide in him.

  “France?” Robert’s voice was strangled.

  “Oh, no. She went to France, didn’t she?”

  The response was subdued. “Yeah, she did. Some of the addresses on the paper were French. She just wanted to check out the paintings to see if they were forged.”

  “Would she be able to tell?”

  “I suppose, if it was something she was familiar with. I don’t know, really. But Carl should be able to test it. He went with her.”

  “Carl?”

  “Carl Boyer. He’s a friend of Jared’s. Lives in L.A.”

  Once Robert began to talk, he relayed the information quickly and thoroughly. Fred found himself liking the man. “Have you ever thought about working with the FBI?” he asked.

  “I did once. But not anymore. I’m a family man, and Cassi’s involvement with you guys is as close as I ever want to get.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

  Fred hung up and immediately turned to Justin, who had been busy on the second line. “Got anything?”

  “Yep. Our friends at the airlines report that a Carl Boyer is on a flight to New York from Paris. It’ll land in twenty minutes. Do you want me to have him picked up?”

  “Of course,” Fred said, pleased at the lead. “Hopefully Cassi will be with him. Her brother says she’s flying under an assumed name.”

  Justin picked up the phone to call the FBI’s New York office.

  * * *

  SEVEN HOURS LATER, THE NEW York agents brought in an unhappy-looking man in a wheelchair. Fred was staring out his office window into the black night. How long has it been since I’ve been home? Not that it really mattered; there was no one there to miss him.

  Fred gave a nod of thanks to the men from New York as they left the room with Justin, who had met them at the airport. Then he turned his attention to the newcomer. “Ah, Mr. Boyer. How nice of you to come.”

  Large hazel eyes met his. “Not that I was given much of a choice.” Carl’s voice was gravelly, as though he had something wrong with his throat. The accident? Probably.

  “Surely you want to help Cassi and Jared.” Fred walked from the window to the front of his desk. He sat on the edge, purposely keeping Carl at a disadvantage by looming over him.

  “I was coming to see you anyway. I had information that would help, but I was robbed.”

  “I heard about that.” The New York men had called ahead to warn him. “I’m sorry.”

  “You sure they weren’t your men?” Carl didn’t quite look at Fred, but rather at the air around his body. It was unsettling.

  Fred didn’t know what to say. This was the third time in two days that a possible leak had been brought to his attention. He was beginning to believe it. After all, who had warned Laranda to take Jared and fly to France at such short notice? It was a little too coincidental for his liking. But he couldn’t say any of this to Carl.

  “I’ve just been talking to Cassi Mason’s brother, and like it or not you are going to have to trust me,” Fred said instead. “Just as he did. Now, Mr. Boyer, I know Cassi’s in France, and I suspect Jared is, too. With Laranda Garrettson. We’ve called our Legal Attaché there and let them know what’s going on. They will request assistance from the local authorities. But there’s still much we can do from here. Any information at all could help. Now, what will it be? Are you going to trust me?”

  Carl studied him for a full minute without replying. “Better gray plaid than black,” he muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. But call me Carl.”

  Fred stuck out his hand. “I’m Fred. Now please tell me what you learned in France.”

  Justin had slipped back into the room at some point, and now took notes on his ever-present pad. Could he be a
traitor? The unexpected thought was distasteful to Fred. He couldn’t be so wrong about a person, could he?

  Carl told them about the paintings he and Cassi had seen in Paris, and their not-quite-authentic feel. Fred’s interest was piqued when he heard about Holbrooke’s Bonnard painting. He’d never imagined Quentin as a victim, but it seemed he had been taken in right along with the others.

  “Cassi wanted me to go and see him,” Carl said. “She thought he’d be willing to let me examine the painting further.”

  “He might.” Fred went around his desk and sat down. “But I’m more interested in the other deliveries that have yet to be made. We could trace them if we knew when and where. Can you contact Cassi to find out?”

  “I’ve been trying to think of a way because I accidentally took her credit cards. She’ll have to get in contact with me soon. She’ll need money.”

  Fred swore under his breath. “Any other ideas?”

  Carl looked thoughtful. “First we should tap my phone in case she does call.”

  Justin made a note on his pad.

  “But there just might be a way to find out deliveries that will be made tomorrow,” Carl continued. “Or more accurately in a few hours, Paris time. Zack Fields, a guy who helped us out in Paris, has a partial list of paintings that had been or were to be delivered in that area. We could call him and get a copy without involving him further.”

  There was a knock at the door and Justin answered it as Carl added, “I’ll have to call Cassi’s brother to get Zack’s number.”

  “No you won’t. I’m here.” A tall, broad man with wavy dark-brown hair shoved his way through the door.

  A worried-looking Darla peered in behind him, the pins in her brown hair slightly askew. “I’m sorry, Fred, he just—”